


Sentences

by fairietailed



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6659206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairietailed/pseuds/fairietailed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the first sentence your soul mate will speak to you appears tattooed on your skin once you turn 18, and Maka discovers that not every sentence is romantic.<br/>--<br/>Recently added - SOMA week 2016 day three - "Stuck in the Rain"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maka

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been almost a year since I first published this story on Tumblr!
> 
> Since then I've decided to go back and edit it a bit. I'm also going to be adding new chapters, all coinciding with the SOMA week for 2016, so there should be at least 11 chapters by the time I'm done with this! Thanks very much for reading!!

****_Watch where you’re going, Tiny Tits._

Maka stares at the words printed on her wrist in complete and total horror.

“This is not happening,” she whispers. She tears her comforter off of her, sprinting to the bathroom. “This is not. Happening.”

She hunches over the sink, pouring half of a bottle of soap on a loofah and nearly screaming as she begins scrubbing. 

She accomplishes nothing. 

Well, almost nothing -- she’s managed to give herself a raw and bright red wrist first thing in the morning. But as she stares at the tiny, six-letter Sentence written on her left wrist, she refuses to believe that this is happening to her.

There is no way that Maka Albarn’s soul mate’s first words to her will be “watch where you’re going, Tiny Tits”. 

Nope. There’s no way she will let that happen. And there’s no way in _Hell_  she will be seen in public with those words written on her _wrist_. 

This is unacceptable, and Maka is furious.

“I’ll just ignore it. I’ll just pretend it never happened. I’ll just… I’ll cover it with makeup. I’ll tell everyone that my Sentence hasn’t shown yet.” 

She practically tears her bathroom cabinet off of its hinges as she searches for her foundation. 

“And you know what? Once I meet the guy who’s supposed to say it, I’ll act like I never met him. I can do that, right? I can totally do that.” She dabs some foundation over the letters, black ink still able to be seen. She chokes, tossing the bottle into the sink and slamming her hand on the side of the counter. “Fuck! … This isn’t happening. I refuse to believe that this is happening.”

She catches sight of herself in the mirror: panic evident, mascara and eyeliner giving her raccoon-eyes, hair sticking out at odd angles. 

She looks like Hell. 

She shakes her head, calming down a bit, holding the sink for support.

“Okay Maka. You can do this. Tsubaki’s Sentence was _‘hey baby, how would you like to sleep with a God tonight’,_ right? If she and Black-Star can end up happy and functional with that as their first meeting, then anything is possible.” 

She groans, slumping over the sink and contemplating just staying inside all day and not leaving her apartment. Maybe she could avoid it….

But she couldn’t do that either, could she? Liz had refused to leave her house for 2 weeks once she got her Sentence. But eventually she ventured out for food, and the first encounter she had was with some white-haired stranger, letting her know that she had something in her teeth.

She and Wes moved in together not even a year later.

Maka groans a second time, letting her head fall forward against her mirror. She decides to face the facts.

She would meet her soul mate in the most humanly ridiculous way possible, and there is nothing she could do to change that fact.

* * *

 

By the time Maka showers and gets changed, she figures that the mess of “Happy Birthday” messages crammed into her mailbox can no longer be ignored. 

She hates birthdays, and today is definitely taking the cake as the worst one yet. 

She does laugh, though, at the twelve new texts and three missed phone calls from Liz, Patty and Tsubaki. She rolls her eyes, smiling to herself as she thumbs through the message thread. 

Her eyes eventually fall on the clock in the corner of her phone screen, and she realizes just how late she is.

She panics, throwing herself off of her bed in a half-dressed state. She whips through her apartment, shrugging on a coat and her messenger bag, grabbing her coffee and picking an apple from the pile sitting on her counter. She would have preferred toast, but she doesn’t have the time. She curses to herself as she hops through the living room, attempting to slide on her boots as she moves.

She huffs out a breath in frustration, eventually falling backwards onto the edge of her couch. She flips her pigtails over her shoulder and pulling on her boots, already wanting to get today over with. 

She just wants the words on her wrist to disappear.

If she’s being completely honest, Maka isn’t even sure she believes in that kind of stuff. Yeah, the Sentences have a 97% success rate, but what about that extra 3%?

Her parents fell into that 3%. 

Besides, she had never been one for big romantic gestures. In fact, Maka was just not a very big fan of romance at all. 

She’d never have the time. She was just at community college right now, sure, but that was just to get all of the basic classes out of the way before she went to law school. And that meant no time for distractions, which meant no time for a boyfriend.

Maka Albarn is too determined to let anything get in her way.

Which was why she detests the idea of these words on her wrist so much. Not just because they’re an eyesore (and one of the most ridiculous Sentences she’d ever heard), but because she doesn’t care about meeting her Mate. While everyone around her wanted nothing more than to turn 18 so they could wake up and see their Sentences printed out on their wrists, Maka had always dreaded the day it would happen.

And her fears had not been wrong, it seemed.

What if her Mate doesn’t care about her dreams and aspirations? What if he only gets in her way, or slows her down? 

What if he hurt her, like Papa hurt Mama?

Being a part of that 3% is looked down upon by society. What well-respected lawyer would fall under the 3%? Who would hire someone who couldn’t even keep their own Mate?

If she woke up one day to her Sentence being Lined, she wouldn’t know what to do. She had seen Mama and Papa’s Lines -- thick and black, running straight through their Sentences the minute their marriage fell apart. 

Maka had decided that she refused to let that happen.

She hurries through the crowds of people moving between classes. She moves with the herds, letting herself be swept toward the east side of campus. She brushes past a group of guys outside of the library, nearly bumping into one of them as he leans against the wall.

He has incredibly sharp teeth and a copy of Ender’s Game, and Maka nearly smacks herself as she remembers the analysis paper she has due on that same book for her English class. She slides past the group of boys, ignoring the way the sharp-toothed one stares after her as she does. 

She makes her way through the library in silence, finding an open study room in the back and not daring to talk to anyone.

* * *

 

She meets up with Liz, Patty and Tsubaki later that night for dinner.

“There you are,” Liz calls out to her once she arrives, waving her down from across the room. “It took you long enough to get here!” 

Maka smiles, weaving through tables like a maze. She keeps her head down, avoiding eye contact with people as she passes them. 

It’s nearing 7 and she still hasn’t met her Mate. She’s beginning to get anxious.

She doesn’t get a chance to sit down before the questions begin.

“So? Have you met him?”

“Or her. We won’t judge.”

“Let me see!”

“Are they nice?”

“Are they hot?”

“What’s their name?”

Maka shakes her head quickly, pigtails whipping her face as she waves her hands dismissively.

“No, no… You guys, I haven’t even met them yet.”

Silence follows her statement. The three girls sitting across from Maka share a look before Liz finally speaks.

“But it’s already so late.”

Patty nods next to her. “Yeah, you’ve had all day!”

Maka shrugs. “I haven’t been focusing on that today. I had stuff to get done for school, so I spent all day studying in the library.” She turns to face Liz, frowning. “It took you two weeks to meet Wes. And it took Tsubaki what, a month? And has Patty even _met_  hers yet?”

Liz shrugs back at her, reaching across the table and picking up her wine. “That’s true, but you’re... _Maka_. You’re so efficient, you know?”

“Yeah!” Patty nods again, smiling. “We figured you’d be all over this. You’re always pretty good at everything.”

Maka snorts a bit, placing her elbow on the table and dropping her chin into her upturned palm. “I guess. But I’m just not really looking forward to this, is all. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if I never even ended up meeting them at all.”

Liz chokes on her wine, and Tsubaki rolls her eyes.

“Oh Maka, now that’s a bit dramatic.”

“It is not!”

Tsubaki places her hand on top of Maka’s in reassurance. “Don’t worry, you have plenty of time to find them. I don’t think either of you are going anywhere any time soon, you know? Now let’s order, I’m starving.”

Maka nods, picking up a menu.

“Speaking of going places, Black-Star’s moving in with me soon.” Tsubaki says it so casually, Maka almost misses it.

“What?! That’s amazing! How is that going?”

“Good. He just wants to help his roommate find another place. Either that, or someone else to room with him. Black-Star says that’s going to be hard, what with all the piano this kid plays.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. I guess he’s from some rich family of musicians or something. He practices pretty much every day. Strictly classical music, too. Black-Star hates it. But he loves the guy, so he puts up with it.”

Liz hums from next to Tsubaki. “That sounds like Wes. He plays his violin like, every morning. It’s definitely not the worst thing to wake up to every day.”

Maka mutters something about enjoying classical music under her breath as their waiter approaches.

* * *

 

By the time they leave the restaurant, it’s well after 10. The other girls take a cab but Maka turns them down, deciding to walk the few blocks it took to get to her house. Tsubaki insists she not go alone, but Maka only waves her off.

Ten minutes later, walking through the crowded downtown-district, she begins wishing she’d taken Tsubaki’s offer. 

Armed with only her pepper spray, she takes in her surroundings and groans softly to herself. She _would_ be dumb enough to walk five blocks to her place through the bar-scene at 10:45 at night. Maka knows no bounds when it comes to this kind of stuff. She likes to prove she can handle it on her own.

 _Never again_ , she thinks, speeding up to get past some sketchy drunks who whistling their approval over the length of her skirt.

She rounds a corner quickly, brushing past a guy with styled white hair. She keeps her head down and walks faster, feeling his eyes on her back.

She dives through the doors of her complex, practically singing with relief once she makes it to the elevator. She’s pretty much home-free at this point.

Once she gets to her door, though, she freezes. She’d forgotten to grab her mail while she was downstairs. She’s expecting a letter from Mama today, and she wants it as soon as possible.

She rests her head against her door, debating whether or not to just wait until tomorrow. She sighs after a minute or two, deciding to just suck it up and head back there now, before she forgot tomorrow after her classes.

So she heads back downstairs and into the lobby, near the front door where the mail boxes are located.

She’s rifling through her mail on her way back to the elevator when she collides into someone’s back, her mail falling every which-way. She takes a moment to recover herself, sighing and dropping to the floor, scooping up bills and letters and staring at the feet of the person she’d collided with. She hears a scoff from the guy standing over her.

“Watch where you’re going, Tiny Tits.”

Maka freezes, a postcard from Spain slipping from her fingers.

No way.

No way did she just hear that.

No way was this happening to her right now. She’s unsure as to what she should do. Should she go with her earlier plan and ignore him? Or maybe she should see what he looks like first…?

The stranger speaks before she can decide.

“Hey, did you hear me? What’s the matter with you? Do you not say sorry to people you run into on the street?” He continues, and suddenly she’s angry.

He just called her Tiny Tits, and expects  _her_ to apologize?

She stands to face him, and holds her wrist to his face to show him her Sentence.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she says, and she can’t help the small bit of pride that swells in her chest as his eyes slightly widen. She rolls onto the balls of her feet, jabbing her finger into the guy’s chest. “You expect me to apologize after you so blatantly insult me? Yeah, right.”

As she takes a step back and finished collecting her mail, she can’t help but take him in. For the guy she assumes is her soulmate (really, what are the odds that two people are supposed to insult her breast size on the same day?), he really isn’t bad looking at all.

He stands taller than her, with white hair and skin only a shade or two darker. She thinks that maybe she should be put off by his shark-like teeth and incredibly red eyes, but honestly, they don’t affect her all that much. She thinks them interesting more than anything else.

Her second sentence seems to snap him out of his thought process. He blinks a few times before he begins to smirk, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Well I guess my insult backfired anyway, because it looks like I’m stuck with 'em.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I’m Soul.” His smirk grows into a grin as he holds his right hand out in greeting. Maka debates whether to acknowledge it or just punch him directly in the face.

She decides on the former, because as much as she hates it, punching her soulmate in the face within 2 minutes of meeting is not an ideal situation. But that doesn’t mean she has to play his game, either.

“I’m Maka,” she ignores his hand, pushing past him toward the elevator, “and I refuse to let this be the first real conversation we have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he calls out from behind her, slightly jogging to keep up with her strides. She may be shorter than him, but she can certainly walk faster. He pulls to a stop as she enters the elevator, pressing her floor number and waiting for the doors to close.

“You get one date,” she says, holding her mail to her chest and refusing to let him see just how much her legs are shaking. “You get one date, tomorrow at 3 at the café down the street from here. And this time, try not to insult me as soon as you see me.”

“No promises,” he says. Maka opens her mouth to object, but is cut off by the doors closing. When she’s finally alone, she lets herself collapse a bit, her legs lead.

This will be more interesting than she’d first thought.


	2. Soul

Soul had already been at the café for fifteen minutes by the time Maka arrives. 

Why he’d gotten there so early, he probably couldn’t tell you. But he’d spent nearly half an hour getting ready for this – which was a good 25 minutes longer than he’d ever spent getting ready for anything in his life – and he wanted to make sure Maka wasn’t the first one there.

He stares at his wrist, reading his Sentence for the millionth time this week while twirling the paper cup full of coffee in his other hand. He’d thought it was a pretty cool sentence to have when he first got it. 

It was certainly better than Black-Star’s one word ( _“huh?”)_  which had disappointed the eccentric, blue-haired kid immensely.

He’d ranted about how boring his Sentence was for hours, Soul tuning him out after the first 15 minutes. The day he’d woken up to his Sentence, right there on his left wrist, he’d shown it to Black-Star almost immediately, a smug look on his face. The kid fumed for days about how much better Soul’s Sentence was than his, and how he really didn’t deserve it, and he certainly didn’t deserve a soulmate that seemed so cool. 

But Soul didn’t care too much about whether or not his soulmate was cool. Actually, he didn’t care too much about finding his soulmate, _period_. He just figured it’d happen when it happened. 

He never thought it would take 10 days, though. And he _never_ thought that the first thing he would say to his soulmate would be so _stupid_.

Part of him thought it was hilarious; really, who else would have the words Tiny Tits tattooed on their wrists for the rest of their lives? But on the other hand, he felt pretty shitty about that exact same thing. 

What if she wanted to be a doctor or something, and some patient didn’t trust her since her soulmate had insulted her immediately after meeting her? Or what if people used his insult as a way to make fun of her?

He’d heard of people trying to cover their Sentences if they were unhappy with the one they got, or if they and their soulmate broke up. 

But would Maka want to do that? What if she hated tattoos? Or what if she hated _him?_

He’s second guessing his decision to meet her for their date when she walks through the door, stopping and surveying the tables around the café to find him. He raises his hand to give a small wave, catching her attention. 

She smiles back at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He doesn’t want to let her know how pretty he thinks she was. That would be pretty uncool to give her the upper hand like that. But as she weaves her way through the small shop to the corner Soul’s secured for them, he thinks that she’s making it pretty hard for him, because damn it -- she is _really_ pretty.

She’s in tight jeans and a loose-fitting, too big t-shirt, with a pair of big boots and her hair in pigtails. It looks like she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and Soul is glad he didn’t dress up too much for this.

He waves again as she sits down, and she raises an eyebrow at him as if to say “you already did that _”_.

He panics, cursing silently to himself. 

Why is he so freaked out about this? He just needs to play it cool, and there will be no problems. But here he is instead, freaking out like an idiot.

He waits for her to say something first, because he’s pretty sure that if he tried to talk now, he would just end up puking all over the floor.

“You look nice.”

She’s smiling softly, and he wants to die right here and now.

“Uh, thanks,” he mutters back, scratching the back of his head, “you look really nice too.”

Her smile only grows, and he assumes it’s because he hadn’t insulted her physical appearance. 

_You’re doing okay so far. Don’t screw it up._

“So, I’m sorry. You know, about yesterday. That was kinda lame,” he smiles awkwardly, hoping that she doesn’t hate him too much.

She waves her hand dismissively, leaning back in her chair. “No, no. It’s fine. You couldn’t have known, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess so. So, how about we start over then,” he holds out his hand across the table, a silent white flag. “I’m Soul.”

She smiles again, and _God_ he loves when she does that. 

He kicks himself, pushing the thought out of his mind. What’s wrong with him? He’s never been this hung up on anyone before, let alone someone he’s just met. 

He silently chalks it up to the fact that she’s his soulmate -- maybe this was how it was just supposed to be.

He focuses instead on the feeling of her hand in his, and decides that he loves it.

“I’m Maka. It’s nice to meet you.”

He smiles again. He doesn’t think he’s ever smiled so much in his life. 

It’s a weird feeling.

“I uh, I got you a coffee. I didn’t know how you like it so I just got it black, and figured you could put whatever you wanted into it.” He pushes a second paper cup across the table towards her, and she takes it with a bit of hesitation.

“Thanks… I don’t normally drink coffee. But I like it black when I do, anyway. So this is great.” She takes the lid off of the top and takes a sip, cringing almost immediately. 

Soul holds back a laugh.

“So, Maka, tell me about yourself.” He lifts his own coffee to take a sip, hiding his laughter behind the rim of the cup. It’s loaded with cream and sugar, so he avoids making any faces Maka may deem uncool.

“Well,” she starts, pushing her coffee towards the middle of the table. Soul thinks he may have spent 4 dollars on something that will not be finished. 

Maka tilts her head to the side, thinking for a moment before she continues “I just turned 18, and I’m going to community college before transferring to law school. I want to become a really great lawyer, like my mom. She’s the best. I don’t get to see her often since she lives in New York, but I go visit her sometimes over the summer. Now that I live on my own I don’t have much money left to go see her after I pay rent and buy food and stuff. But I’m saving up for another trip. Uh, I really like to read, and I don’t really know how all of this dating stuff works, so I may not be the best at it.”

She shrugs awkwardly at the end, proceeding to grab hold of one of her pigtails. She runs her fingers through it, twisting and pulling until Soul thinks it may just pop clean off the side of her head. 

“So, uh, what about you?”

“Huh?” He had zoned out while staring at her hands, and she laughs a bit as he comes to. He makes a quick recovery, though, coughing as he tells her about himself. 

“I turned 18 last week. Well, like a week and a half. I’m at community college too, but only because my parents wanted me to go out to Julliard like my older brother. So I decided to come here instead. Plus, as much as I like playing, I don’t want to go into composing and performing like the rest of my family, so I figure I’ll just kinda wing it until I figure out exactly what I _do_ want to do.”

He shrugs like she did, and Maka’s mouth hangs open.

“ _Wing_ it?”

“Yeah, why not? Lots of people don’t know their majors yet. Or they change them at least a dozen times. I’m just going to keep taking classes until I find something that sticks. I have the funds. Maybe I’ll get like 8 degrees and just do a bunch of different stuff. Who knows.”

“That’s...” she begins to shake her head, apparently shocked beyond words. “That’s… Interesting. I don’t think I could ever do that in a million years. I’ve had my life planned out since I was 5.”

“So have I, but mine was never my choice,” Soul shrugs a second time, sitting back in his chair. “I decided to change that.”

“That’s pretty brave. What instruments do you play?”

“Piano, mostly. My roommate hates it. He’s into completely different music than I am so he goes crazy when I play.”

“That’s funny,” Maka says, leaning forward as if to grab her coffee. She seems to decide against it, though, and rests her elbows on the table instead. “My friend was just talking last night about her boyfriend feeling the same way about _his_ roommate. I think piano is cool, but Black-Star has the attention span of a toddler so I could totally see him going crazy over that.”

“Wait, wait,” Soul puts his hands on the table, pushing his coffee off to the side. “You know Black-Star?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known him since we were kids. His foster-dad was friends with my parents so we’d hang out a lot. Why?” Maka leans away, face skeptical.

“He’s my roommate. That’s… weird. Did you meet Tsubaki through him, too?”

“No way!” she springs forward toward the table, and this time it’s Soul’s turn to lean back quickly. “That’s crazy! I wonder why we’ve never met before. How long have you known him?”

He crosses his arms. “Not until you answer my question.”

Maka rolls her eyes and rests her chin on the back of her hands, lacing her fingers together to support herself. “I met Tsubaki in one of my classes. She and Black-Star actually met at my place, and he tried hitting on her. Turns out his shitty pick-up line was Tsu’s Sentence.”

Soul laughs. “Seriously? I was supposed to go with him that night but I went to a concert instead. That’s funny. I’ve only known him since the summer before college. We met through work and decided to room together once school started.”

“You work at the gym?”

Soul laughs at this, too, but it comes out as more of a snort than anything. “No way. We were both working at Deathbucks when we met. Once we came here he quit and got that job at the gym. It suits him better, I think.”

“Makes sense.” Maka becomes silent for a moment, thinking. Soul watches her, taking sips of his coffee. 

He doesn’t mind the silence. In fact, he thinks it’s pretty comfortable as he takes in the image of her in front of him. Her green eyes are slightly glossed over as her bottom lip sticks out in a small pout. He isn’t sure how much time has passed before she suddenly turns toward him and speaks again.

“So do you wanna maybe get out of here? We could… I dunno. We could go do something I guess? I know this really cool bookstore a few blocks away. Unless you’re not into that sort of thing. I dunno. I was just thinking, is all…”

As a matter of fact, Soul is definitely _not_ into that sort of thing. It isn’t that he doesn’t like reading, no. He reads sometimes, if his mood calls for it. He’s just very, _very_ picky about what he will read. 

He’s only enjoyed maybe about 6 or 7 books in his lifetime, and has re-read all of them so much that he could probably recite them from memory.

But there’s no way that he was about to let Maka know that.

“Yeah! No, that sounds cool. Let’s check it out.” And then he’s standing, waiting for her to gather her purse and coffee before heading out. 

Once they reach the door, Maka tosses the still-full coffee in the trash while she thinks he isn’t looking. He smirks to himself, but says nothing.

They walk the first couple of streets in silence, taking in the city around them. Soul thinks it’s was just as comfortable as the silence at the café, and he thinks that maybe having a soulmate that he can fall comfortably into step with might not be too bad.

Soon, though, Maka breaks the silence with the question he’d been waiting for since the second he’d opened the door for it.

“So… why didn’t you want to go to Julliard? That sounds like it’d be pretty cool, I think.” Maka

“Uh, that’s kind of a long story. And it’s only our first date, so I don’t want to bore you with details that don’t really matter much right now,” he shrugs, trying to look as casual as possible, and counters her question with one of his own: “What about your dad? You talked about how great your mom is. Is he in New York with her?”

He can see from the look on her face that he’s treading through dangerous waters, and it makes him more nervous than he thought it would.

“That’s a long story, too. So maybe we should save both of or stories for our next date.”

“There will be another one?”

He holds back a laugh as she trips forward, nearly falling onto the pavement in front of her.

“ _If,_ ” she scrambles to straighten herself up, cheeks flushing, “ _if_ there’s a second date. If.”

Soul grins, and decides that Maka is possibly the cutest thing he’d seen in his 18 years of living.

“Yeah,” he says, “if.”


	3. Words

****Everything is upside down.

Maka's head hangs off the side of her bed, her left wrist directly in front of her face. Her line of vision shifts between her Sentence and the pile of books across the room from her. 

She'd gotten a total of 12 books last week at the bookstore with Soul, and she had only bought 3 of them. He had insisted on buying her any book that she even remotely mentioned looked good, and she'd left with quadruple what she had originally thought she'd leave with.

They had gone from the bookstore to some of the other shops downtown, talking about different things and learning bits of information about each other through the small talk. She didn’t think she’d ever laughed as much she had then -- being out with Soul had almost been as natural as breathing.

Her cheeks grow warm, and she isn't sure whether it’s from the blood rushing to her head or the thought of Soul.

She sighs and pulls herself up to sit cross-legged instead, facing her window. She touches her cheeks, a small smile on her lips. 

She wonders if this is what having a soulmate is supposed to feel like.

If it is, Maka thinks that she might not mind it very much.

* * *

 

Everything is upside down.

Soul nearly drops his keys as he walks into his apartment, his mouth hanging open as he absorbs the fact that every piece of furniture in his apartment is _literally_ flipped upside down. 

He stares, gawking at the scene in front of him for at least a minute. He’s so confused; he had just left for 30 minutes to run down the street and grab some milk?

He hurries to the fridge and places the milk inside, but not before noting that the contents of the fridge are upside down, too. 

Which would mean….

_Oh no._

He leaves the fridge door open in a haste to see if his hunch is right… and it is.

He stands in the doorway of his room, hands on the top of his head, speechless.

_Everything_  is upside down. His bed, his dresser, even his bookshelf. All of it. 

A note sits on the top of his flipped mattress. He makes his way across his room in two strides, snatching the paper and skimming over the sloppy message written on it.

He pulls out his phone, and calls the first person he can think of.

* * *

 

"He _what_?" Maka shoots up from her place on the bed, striding to her dresser and pulling out a pair of socks, pulling them on and reaching for her boots. "Soul, slow down. You're not making any sense."

_"_ _He flipped my entire apartment upside down, Maka! Everything!"_  His voice is a mixture of laughter and panic. She can't tell which is more prominent.

"Who?" she asks, phone jammed between her ear and her shoulder as she pulls her boots on.

" _Black-Star! He left a note,"_  there’s a crinkling on the other end of the line. She assumes it was him straightening out the note to read. " _It says 'Bwa-ha-ha. Dear Soul, think of this as a good-bye present. Love, the great Black-Star'."_

She hears him groan and re-crumble the note, and she stifles a laugh.

" _Makaaaaa,”_ there’s a desperation in his voice that makes her laughter harder to hide. _"Please help."_

She smiles, shrugging on her coat. "Give me 5 minutes."

She can hear his smile through his words. " _Okay, I'll see you then_."

* * *

 

When Maka makes it to his apartment Soul is on the phone, arguing with the person responsible for his apartment's re-arrangement. He opens the door for her, nodding for her to come inside, mid-sentence as she skirts her way around him.

"I don't give a shit what your plans were today, Black-Star! Get over here and help Maka and I put the apartment back, now." He sees Maka stifle a laugh next to him, and his heart leaps into his throat. 

But he plays it cool, determined to get someone with more muscle strength down here. There’s no way he and Maka can fix this whole place themselves.

" _Bwahaha! Yeah right, Soul! Just look at the gift your God has given you. Now you have the whole place to yourselves, just you and Maka. This is working out better than I'd hoped!"_

Soul can feel his face heat up, and he turns away from Maka before she can see. He pulls the phone closer to his ear, hissing.

"Will you shut up? Just come down here and help. We can't do this oursel-" he can hear Black-Star talking to someone in the background, and his eyes narrow. "Is that Tsubaki? Put her on the line."

" _Wh-what? No way dude! Nuh uh it's just me here Tsubaki's- hey! Hey! Give that back!"_ Soul gives himself a triumphant smirk as Black-Star's voice fades on the other end of the line, and a much nicer voice takes over.

_"Hi Soul! It's Tsubaki. What's up?"_

Soul's smirk grows as he explains the situation. Tsubaki sighs once he finishes.

_"We'll be over in 20 minutes."_

He hangs up, turning to face Maka, chest puffed out. "I won. They're on their way over."

"Yeah, sure," she saunters to the couch, flipping it over by herself. Soul watches, unmoving, trying not to look shocked at how easy the action was for her. "But you had to go to Tsubaki in order to get him here at all. Does that _really_ count as a win?"

She sits down, smirking up at him. His eyebrows furrow as he takes a seat next to her.

"Uh, yeah, it totally does. Like you could do a better job at it."

"I could. Just you wait until they get here. I'll handle it no problem. Besides, this place looks like it could use some cleaning anyway. So we might as well take care of that while we're at it."

Soul sighs loudly, letting his head drop back onto the couch cushion. She's been in his apartment for 3 minutes and is already criticizing it.

"You have a habit of doing that, don't you?" He asks, head still leaning back. He looks to his left out of the corners of his eyes, seeing her stiffen at his question.

"Doing what?"

He pulls himself up to face her. "Controlling things. Criticizing things. You know, making sure you're the one in charge."

Her mouth falls open and she stares at him, her eyebrows furrowing just as his had earlier.

"I do not."

"I think you do." He pokes her forehead, and she smacks his hand away. He lets it drop, letting out a huff of air meant as a laugh. She smiles despite herself, picking his arm back up from where it lay on the couch.

His breath catches in his throat as she takes his left wrist, turning it upward so his Sentence faces the ceiling. She runs her fingers along the letters softly, her smile faltering a bit as she gets to the end. She sighs, tilting her head up to look at him. Her eyes are glossed with concern, and her eyebrows are together again - only this time, they’re drawn with worry.

"Do you… hate it?"

The question takes Soul by surprise, and he stares at her for a moment longer than he wants to.

"No."

It come out slowly, though he doesn’t want it to. His hesitation is more due to the fact that he isn't sure which she’s referring to: his Sentence, or their pairing in general. The way she asked makes it seem like a combination of the two.

She drops her gaze to somewhere at his feet, seeming to stare at imaginary words that have settled there in big, block letters. They seem to upset her.

"You... Hesitated."

He opens his mouth to explain himself, but sighs instead. It takes him a moment to speak.

"I don't hate it. I'm just… worried. That _you_ hate it."

Her eyes flicker quickly to her wrist, and she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth. She closes her eyes, and it feels like hours before she opens them again.

"You know what? I do hate it."

Soul feels something tighten in his chest, can feel the words Maka had said constrict themselves around his lungs. He feels them work their way through his lungs into his stomach, where they sit, weighing him down nervously.

"I really hate that _this_ was the Sentence I got stuck with. I mean, there has to be a million possibilities that could have been better than this."

Soul winces as she continues.

"But you know what? I do like that it was your Sentence I got."

He looks up to find Maka smiling at his hands, and his chest tightens again. This time, it isn't from worry.

"Yeah. I think the words are terrible, but the person who said them is pretty cool." Maka looks up at him, and Soul feels as though he can fly right then and there.

Everything is upside down right now.

But he’s pretty sure that he and Maka can straighten everything out together.


	4. Spirit

****Soul stares at Maka as she sits on his now right-side-up couch, arms crossed, staring off into space.

“Are you… okay?” one of his eyebrows raises questioningly as Maka sighs, letting her head fall back onto the couch cushion behind her. She smacks her hands to her face, dragging them down slowly and groaning.

“I just… do we have to go? Can’t we just stay here and marathon Orphan Black? We’ll tell him that your apartment still needs to be fixed.” She looks at Soul hopefully, green eyes wide, and it takes everything in his power not to cave in.

But he doesn’t.

“Maka, it doesn’t take 3 days to straighten out an apartment. He’ll see right through your excuse. Plus, he seemed excited to see you. It’s just a few hours at most. It will be fine.” He pulls himself off of the couch, extending his arms out to help her stand next to him.

She sighs again as she stands, staring at him for a moment, seeming to take in features of his face that she hasn’t yet seen. 

His breath catches in his throat as he stares back, and he smiles, hoping she can’t notice his knees shaking. She seems not to, though, as she takes another deep breath and turns toward the door.

“Alright, then. Let’s go see Papa.”

* * *

 

Soul walks in silence next to a chattering Maka. He rolls his eyes as she goes on about the way he should act around her father. 

“-and he’ll probably try and interrogate you. Don’t let him. And he’ll probably say something irritating- hey. Are you listening Soul?” she hits his arm lightly, and he turns to her.

“Hm? Were you saying something?” He waves a hand dismissively, the other one stuffed into his jacket pocket.

Maka scoffs, stopping in her tracks and putting her hands on her hips. She frowns at him, and he laughs.

“I’m kidding. I was listening. I can handle myself, don’t worry.” He smiles at her, and she stands for another moment before sighing, jogging quickly to catch up to where he is.

“So, where’s your car?” She looks around the garage before turning back to Soul, and watches as his smile turns into a wicked kind of smirk that has her somewhat concerned.

“I don’t drive one.”

Maka’s hands find their way back to her hips, and she raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Then what are we doing in the parking garage if you don’t?”

Soul only motions behind him. Maka’s mouth falls open as she looks in the direction he’s pointing, stepping back,  as she shakes her head. “No way Soul. No way.”

Behind them sits a bright yellow motorcycle with two helmets on the seat. Maka doesn’t even want to _know_ why there are two, as she refuses to believe that one is hers. 

Her beliefs are proven wrong, however, as Soul picks up the smaller of the two and tosses it her way. She fumbles the helmet around in her arms a bit before it falls, clamoring to the floor and sending an echo through the parking garage around them. Soul’s laugh chases after it as he picks up the fallen helmet, dropping it onto Maka’s head.

“Come on Maka. I promise it will be okay. Trust me.”

It comes out more as a question than a statement, and Maka looks up at him through the helmet visor, still a bit skeptical. “Alright, fine. We’re already late anyway.”

The smile Soul gives her could rival the sun. He wastes no time sliding onto the seat, holding out his hand to help her on behind him. She climbs on hesitantly, slipping her arms around his waist and sucking in a deep breath.

He kicks the bike to life, shivering a bit as Maka rests her head against his back. He smiles to himself as he maneuvers the bike from the garage, making their way out onto the street. Maka’s grip around his torso tightens, and Soul is positive that if he wasn’t driving his bike right now, he wouldn’t be able to see straight. 

He takes one hand off of the handlebars to briefly squeeze her arm, and is quickly yelled at by Maka. He can hear her voice reach him over the sound of the bike and the wind, and she can feel his torso shaking with laughter, the rumbling almost matching that of the motorcycle beneath them.

* * *

 

It takes them five minutes to make it to the restaurant -- half the time it’d normally take her by car. And though she would never admit it, the motorcycle didn’t seem to be such a terrible thing after all. 

They make their way inside. Maka tugs at her jacket sleeves, pulling them down over her wrists nervously. The last thing she wants is for Papa to see her Sentence; She’d wait until after he had met Soul.

A hand closes around hers and she looks up to see Soul staring down at her, slightly concerned. She nods her head at a statement never said, taking a deep breath and entering the dining room, searching for her Papa.

It doesn’t take long to find him as he stands almost immediately, waving his arms around wildly and calling out her name. Several people in the restaurant stare, and it takes everything in Maka’s power not to turn and leave. 

She groans instead, making her way through the crowded tables to the one her father sits at, Soul trailing behind her. His grip on her hand tightens.

As they approach the table Soul switches their positions, taking the lead. As soon as they’re in front of Maka’s father, he extends his hand.

“Hey. I’m Soul.”

Her father eyes him skeptically for a moment before taking his hand. “Spirit.”

They nod at each other briefly before sitting down. Spirit turns to Maka almost immediately, his eyes practically shining as he holds his arms out from across the table.

“Maka! My darling. Papa is so glad you came to see him!”

She scoffs before sitting next to Soul, pulling her menu up to block him from her sights. “I’m only here to eat.”

Spirit’s arms fall to his sides and he hangs his head, pulling up his own menu. Soul raises his eyebrows at Maka, but doesn’t say anything.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the table, but Maka refused to be the one to break it. It’s not until their waitress comes swooping in towards their table that someone speaks.

“Hiya! I’m Blair. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” The woman leans over the table, dropping a basket of bread sticks onto it. The top three buttons of her shirt are undone, and Maka can see her bra poking out from beneath it. She looks at Soul next to her and frowns almost immediately as he stares at the waitress’ chest, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like some lame fish. 

She doesn’t even bother looking at Papa.

She wishes that this woman would leave.

Maka gives her order quickly, tapping her fingers against the table impatiently as the two men with her take twice as long to do the same. When they’re finished Blair skips away, and another uncomfortable silence falls over the table. She reaches into the pile of bread sticks in front of her, picking one out and chewing on it absentmindedly. She stares down at her chest, thinking about her Sentence.

She swallows hard, wondering if things will end for her the same way they did for Mama.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts as Soul clears his throat next to her, reaching for a bread sticks just as she had.

“So, Spirit… what exactly do you do for a living?”

Spirit pulls his gaze away from the other side of the room – most likely from the direction of Blair and her chest.

“I’m senior adviser to the mayor of the city. It’s a very important job, really,” he smiles in Maka’s direction for a moment. When she ignores him, he turns his focus back to Soul, suddenly very serious. 

“And what do you do, _Soul_? How will you be supporting my wonderful Maka for the rest of her life?”

Maka stiffens as Soul chokes on his bread stick. She glares at her Papa as her soulmate thumps on his chest to dislodge the piece of bread from his throat.

“I uh… I work at a motorcycle shop.” He chokes out the sentence as he reaches for his glass of water. It takes both Spirit _and_ Maka by surprise, as she realizes that she hadn’t event known this bit of information herself. 

But she wouldn’t let Papa know that.

“Oh. How does it pay?” Spirit attempts to pry further, but Maka cuts him off.

“That doesn’t matter, Papa. What matters is that he has a job that he likes as he goes to school.”

Spirit holds up his hands quickly in defense, smiling. “You’re right, you’re right, of course. I just want to make sure my little girl is being taken care of. It would be awful if her soulmate was a failure with no future, right?”

He turns to look at Soul, who simply stares back. Maka thinks that maybe her father had hit a nerve of Soul’s, because when he answers, his voice becomes very serious.

“You’re right. It would almost be as bad as if her soulmate left her with a lined Sentence.”

Maka takes another bite of her bread stick, turning toward Spirit with her eyebrows raised.

He leans back in his seat, pushing his hair out of his face and frowning at Soul.

“Tell me: do you plan on doing that?”

Maka turns back to Soul, bread stick forgotten as it hangs from her mouth.

_Does_ he plan on doing that?

She watches as Soul thinks about his answer. She doesn’t breathe as he contemplates, worried that the short amount of time they’ve known each other isn’t enough for him to base an answer on. He’s silent for a minute before he sits a bit higher in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“No.”

The two letters slip from Soul’s mouth quietly, seeming to remind Maka to breathe. She sucks in a breath of air, smiling at Soul as he continues.

Spirit raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And you know this already, after knowing her for a week?”

“Nearly two,” Maka interjects, taking another bite of bread stick.

Soul doesn’t seem phased, shrugging instead and leaning back in his chair.

“To be completely honest, I have no idea. I don’t know what the future will bring at all, none of us do. But I know that Maka is supposed to be my soulmate. And I know that in the two weeks that I _have_  known her, I’ve been happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Maka can feel something inside of her swell; a kind of warmth that tightens her chest and radiates throughout the rest of her body as Soul continues.

“I’m not sure how this soulmate thing works. And I’m not sure if we’ll be together for as long as soulmates should be. But even if we’re not, I’m going to enjoy the time that we _do_  spend together. Because she makes me feel... Complete. And I like that. And I like Maka. So I’m going to be with her for as long as she likes me.”

She watches Soul as he watches Spirit, who says nothing for quite a while.

Finally, she hears a satisfied hum come from the other side of the table.

“Alright. Don’t do anything stupid then.”

He reaches out and grabs a bread stick, stuffing the end of it in his mouth before continuing.

“I still don’t think you deserve my Maka. She’s beautiful and wonderful and smart and amazing and could do much better than the Evans boy that ran away from home. But if she chooses to love you and you do your best to treat her right, then I can’t complain too much.”

Maka sighs. Honestly, that was a better reaction than she had been expecting.

She reaches her hand out beside her, finding Soul’s beneath the table. His hand is warm, and her chest tightens again.

She decides that she just might choose to love him after all.


	5. Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of SOMA week 2016 - "Types of Kisses"

August

 

“Listen to me,” Black Star says, ankles crossed as he sits perched on Soul’s kitchen counter, “you need to just kiss her. You’ve been dating for what, a month? Two? Plus you’re  _ literally _ soul mates, so it’s not like you’re not gonna be doin’ a bunch of kissing in the future anyway.”

“We’ve been  _ going _ on dates for the past month, yes.” Soul rolls his eyes, laying his head on the counter opposite Black Star. He presses his toes against the island in front of him, slightly spinning his barstool back and forth. “But we aren’t  _ dating _ . So I don’t know if she even wants me to kiss her or not.”

Black Star snorts, leaning back against the cupboards. “Dude, if you don’t kiss her soon she’s probably gonna just divorce you.”

Soul scrunches up his nose, cheek cool against the laminate as he stares at the wall to his left. “We’re not married.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“How would I even kiss her? Like, how do I not screw it up?” he lifts his head, resting his chin in his palm instead. “Is there a specific time I’m supposed to kiss her? Where  _ should _ I? The forehead? Cheek? Just kind of go for the lips right off the bat?”

He makes finger guns in Black Stars’ direction, raising one eyebrow and pulling up the corners of his lips. “‘Hey Maka, I’m totally going to kiss you now’.”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Lame.”

Black Star sighs. “Yeah it is. Geeze, man, you’re really overthinking this.”

Soul holds his arms out in front of himself, a panicked look settling across his face. “What am I supposed to do?!”

“I dunno man. I never had this problem. I say just go for it - if she doesn’t kiss you back by now then she’s just crazy.”

* * *

September  


 

“I should just kiss him, shouldn’t I?”

Liz nods, poking her head out from the top of the clothing rack she’s sifting through. “Yes. Definitely. It’s been way too long already.”

Maka sighs, rolling her eyes and pulling a top from the rack. “I guess. I’m just worried he might not like it.”

“He might not-?  _ Maka _ . He’s a guy. If you show him your boobs, he’ll love you whether you’re terrible or not.”

Maka sighs even louder, mixing it with a small groan. “Too bad he doesn’t  _ like _ by boobs.” She held out her wrist, frowning at Liz as if to remind her.

“Mm. True. Well, looks like you’re screwed.” Liz shrugs, grinning wildly, and Maka throws a balled-up t-shirt at her.

“You’re not helping, you know.”

“Shouldn’t have asked for help if you’re going to shoot down every piece of advice I give you.”

Maka hums, making her way toward the register with a small stack of clothing folded over her arm. “Fair enough.”

* * *

October  


 

Maka’s legs shift a bit beneath him. Soul lifts his head from her lap, letting her adjust her position. She straightens out her legs, heels finding the coffee table, and she pats her thigh to signal he can return.

He’s watching a Tarantino film while she reads a book he’s never heard of. It’s hard for him to focus with the feeling of her skin on his -- she’s wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a large t-shirt, and he’s never been more in love with an outfit in his life.

She hums as someone on screen gets shot, blood spattering with over-done effect. “Is this necessary?”

Soul gives her a look from his place in her lap. “Is  _ what _ necessary? One of the best cinematic directors of the current decade? Because if so, yes.”

Maka scrunches up her nose, making a face at the television. “He is most definitely  _ not _ the best cinematic directors of our time.”

Soul nods, his hair static against her thighs. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I said  _ one of _ .”

Maka snorts. “Shut up. All he does is blow stuff up.”

“No, that’s Michael Bay.” Soul counters, though he snorts a bit too. Maka only rolls her eyes and runs her fingers through his hair, and he melts back into the comfort of her lap.

It’s been three months since they met, and he hasn’t worked up the nerve to kiss her. He isn’t sure why.

Black-Star’s words pass through his mind -- they  _ are _ technically soulmates. This kind of thing really shouldn’t be that hard. They were supposed to stay together forever anyway, right? They might as well spend part of that time kissing.

But honestly, he’s not sure if she  _ wants _ to be kissed. It’s not like he hasn’t made a move; in fact, he’s made quite a few. But every time he has, something else would interrupt, and sometimes that thing would be Maka herself.

She would change the subject, or take a step backward before he could move in.

It’s not that he minded (if she didn’t want to kiss him, he wasn’t going to force her). Of course he respects her boundaries -- the only problem is that he isn’t exactly sure where her boundaries  _ are _ . 

There’s another death on screen, and Maka hums as she watches.

“You know, I do enjoy the writing of his movies. I just don’t really understand the whole point of the violence.”

“It’s just there because it can be.” He says, and she hums again, scratching his scalp a bit with her fingernails.

He smiles, turning his head a bit so she can get a better angle.

“You’re like a cat,” Maka says, and Soul laughs.

“Don’t compare me to a  _ cat _ . That’s the worst.”

“No it’s not! Cats are cute.”

“Ah, so you think I’m cute?”

Maka’s nails still, and he whines a bit as she pulls her hand away.

“I- well it’s just- Okay, so I didn’t mean-”

Soul laughs, shaking his head and pulling her hand back onto his head. “It’s fine, Maka. I was just teasing.”

She lets out a small squeak, and he smiles as she begins petting him again. He turns his head a quarter of an inch, and brushes his lips across her thigh.

It’s so light that he thinks maybe she didn’t feel it. Her hand doesn’t stop its movement and she doesn’t put her book down, but he knows that she felt it by the way her torso shivers, and by the way goosebumps appear on her legs.

She felt it.

And as Soul turns his head back in the direction of the television, he can see her smile reflecting at him through the glass.

* * *

December  


 

It hits her while she’s in the shower.

She’s not sure how it happens. Maybe it’s the stress of the fall semester ending. Maybe it’s the panic of knowing that her lease is up soon, and she needs to find another place before then. Maybe it’s the lack of food in her pantry, the lack of job that she has, and the lack of ambition she has to continue with school.

Maybe it’s the fact that even though she sent Mama a letter telling her all about her and her life and how she met Soul five months ago, she’d only gotten the same letter back, marked RETURN TO SENDER.

Whatever the reason, her first panic attack in three years hits her when she runs out of shampoo.

She stares at the empty bottle for a few seconds, water bouncing off of her back as she stands in silence.

The bottle becomes blurry, and she frowns as she tries to scrub the water off of it. It takes her a minute to realize that the bottle is blurry through the tears forming in her eyes, her body becoming heavy as it becomes hard for her to breathe.

She lowers herself to the floor, shampoo bottle cradled to her chest, silent sobs shaking her as she curls up in the bottom of her tub. She can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t hear anything except the water hitting her skin and the wails of sirens in the distance.

Maybe someone called the police. Or maybe someone called an ambulance.

An ambulance would be good. Maybe they could bring her some air.

She’s choking, coughing and hacking and holding the empty shampoo bottle to her chest as she squeezes her eyes shut, her chest not able to expand enough to let air in.

She can’t get any air in.

She hears something banging on her door, hears someone call her name, hears the sirens in the distance, but she can’t focus. She can’t say anything, can’t cry out from the lump in her throat and the coughing that she’s doing, coughing so hard that she might just end up puking, hacking until she’s nearly gone blind, brilliant spots of white clouding her vision.

Cold air hits her, the person calling her name sounding closer. The water stops, the beating on her torso disappearing with it. The curtain to the shower is thrown aside, and she can feel something soft hit her where the water once was.

“Maka?”

She’s still sniffling, unable to breathe as she takes in short bursts of air, whatever the wailing was seeming to die down a bit.

“Maka, I’m going to pull you out of the tub. Do you want me to do that?”

She can feel her head fall forward, and roll to the side a bit. She doesn’t know what she wants, and she doesn’t know how whoever this is can help her. She’s always gone through this alone -- she doesn’t want someone to see her like this now.

“Maka listen to me. I’m pulling you out. Okay?”

She feels arms wrap around her, strong and solid and warm as they pull her up and out of the tub, carrying her to her bedroom. Her hair falls over her shoulders, dripping onto the carpet as they  move. She shakes a bit from the cold.

She doesn’t open her eyes until she’s set on her bed, mattress sinking a bit below her weight. She takes in a shuddering breath, opening her eyes to see Soul sitting in front of her, eye level with her as she lays on her comforter.

“Hey.”

And then she’s crying, rolling forward to the edge of the bed so Soul can place his hand on her cheek, wiping her tears as they fall. She pulls the towel that he’s wrapped around her tighter, curling her knees toward her chest.

“Do you want me to get you a change of clothes?”

She nods, her crying continuing as he rifles through her bottom dresser drawer to find her some pajamas. He brings a pair of flannel pants and a big t-shirt back with them, and turns around while he gets changed. When he hears her crawl under her covers, he turns back around.

“Are you okay?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you want me to lay with you?”

A nod.

“Okay. Do you want me to throw away your shampoo bottle?”

Another nod, this time bitter.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

She feels him crawl under the covers with her a few minutes later, sliding up behind her and pulling her toward him. She flips so that she can bury her face in his chest, and she sighs into him as she focuses on his heartbeat.

“I heard you from the living room.”

_ Shit _ . 

She had forgotten that he was over, staying for the weekend while they took care of a spider problem in his apartment.

“I got worried, and came to check on you. I didn’t see anything though,” he’s quick to add, and Maka lets out a shaky laugh. “I only opened the curtain enough to turn the water off, and then I put a towel over you. I promise.”

Maka nods, and he seems to relax.

“Did you call an ambulance?” She asks, and her voice is hoarse and broken.

“No, why?”

“I thought I heard sirens.”

Soul laughs, though Maka isn’t sure what about this situation is funny.

“That was you.”

_ Oh _ .

He laughs again, and pulls her head close. Her eyes are heavy, and she’s half asleep when he asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

She shakes her head, and Soul nods in return.

As Maka’s eyes close, she swears she feels him kiss her forehead.

* * *

March  


 

“Did you punch him in the face?”

“Of course I did.” Maka is fuming, pacing around the kitchen in her work uniform.

It’s been three months since she moved in with Soul after her lease was up, and two since she started her new job as a waitress at a local diner. She lets out a noise of frustration as she stomps her foot, rounding on Soul, who sits at the counter across from her.

“I’m lucky my manager didn’t fire me. He could have gotten me fired! I could have gotten  _ myself _ fired! God, I’m so angry!” She makes another strangled noise, marching past him and into the living room. He follows, amused.

“But you didn’t get fired. That’s what’s important, right?”

Maka throws her arms in the air, sputtering a bit as she backs into the hallway. “Who knows what’s important anymore?! Not me!!”

Soul stifles laughter as she makes her way into her room, tossing her apron onto her bed and pulling her hair out from the bun it had been in.

“Some asshole comes up to you at work and makes fun of your Sentence, who  _ knows _ what you’re supposed to do?! Not Maka Albarn! She doesn’t know anything but blind fury and hatred, and doesn’t know anything except how to put her fist straight through someone’s face!”

Soul gives up on trying to hide it, his laughter breaking out from his place in the doorway. Maka frowns at him.

“What are  _ you _ laughing at?! This is your fault, you know!”

He struggles to stop laughing, leaning against the doorframe and shaking his head. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Really. It’s just that you’re really cute when you’re worked up like this.”

Maka opens her mouth to argue, but stops. Her cheeks turn pink, and she whips around to dig through her closet instead. Soul laughs again, quieter this time, and steps into her room, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“I am sorry though,” he says, staring down at their hands, pulling them up to look at their Sentences.

Maka stiffens a bit in his arms, sighing after a moment of silence.

“It’s okay. It was bound to happen. I’m just lucky my manager understood.”

Soul frowns, turning her to face him. “It’s not okay. And it  _ shouldn’t _ happen.”

She rolls her eyes, holding up her left wrist at his eye level. “Listen to me, okay? I don’t care what some drunk says to me after he’s had way too many drinks. It’s bound to happen, and I’ve known that since I woke up with this on my wrist.”

He grabs ahold of her wrist, running his thumb over her Sentence. There’s a heaviness in his chest that he doesn’t like, and as he runs over the nickname his stupidity had given her, his stomach turns.

He brings her wrist to his lips, and kisses her Sentence.

“Yeah, but because I said something stupid, you have to live with the consequences.

Maka’s cheeks turn pink and she turns back to her closet without saying anything. Soul takes a few steps back, falling onto her bed. Maka pulls out a tank top after a few seconds of searching, carrying it with her as she sits beside Soul, the mattress sinking even lower.

“Shut up, you always say stupid stuff. You just happened to do it with a sentence that showed up on my skin, is all.”

Soul makes a face. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Maka smiles, nodding. “Yeah, because it means I like you no matter what stupid things you say.”

He snorts a bit, rolling his eyes. “Thanks.”

“You can be as sarcastic as you want, it’s true. I like you. And I like my Sentence, because it came from  _ you _ . So stop worrying, please. I’m not going to leave you just because one guy made fun of my boobs.”

Soul laughs, though it’s more bitter than he’d have liked. “Yeah, that’s my job.”  
  
Maka hums, leaning forward and kissing Soul’s cheek. 

“It is.”


	6. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For SOMA week day 2 - Can't Sleep

Maka’s room is dark, the fan above her the only sound she can hear as the chain for the light clinks against the bulb. She sighs to herself as she stares at her ceiling - or what she assumes is her ceiling, the darkness too think around her to see anything else.

She flips onto her side and digs under her pillow for a minute, pulling out her phone and turning it on. She squints through the sudden flood of light, eventually dimming it down and finding the time.

2:07 A.M.

She groans, dropping her phone and flipping onto her stomach, stuffing her face into her pillow. She needs to sleep. She has an early shift at the diner tomorrow (or today?) and needs to be up by 8.

Yet here she is, still awake, nowhere close to sleep.

She groans again, kicking her legs a bit under her covers to emphasise her frustration.

She pulls herself up into a sitting position, eyes squinting through the darkness at the crack beneath her door. There’s a light still on. Maybe that means Soul’s still awake.

Maka nods to herself, sliding off of her bed and into her fuzzy slippers, shuffling across her room and opening the door just enough to see through the crack. She can hear a laugh track playing in the living room, the lights from the television flickering like a fire in the darkness. She opens the door completely, tiptoeing through the hallway and poking her head around the corner of the wall separating the hall from the living room.

Soul sits on the couch, one arm thrown over the back cushion, feet on the coffee table in front of him. His eyes are half-closed, but he laughs at the show he has on - some sitcom from the 80’s that Maka hasn’t seen in years. She debates turning around and sneaking back to her room, but he notices her presence before she can.

“Maka?”

Even though she’d watched him turn to face her, his voice still makes her jump. It cuts through the air between them quickly, like a firecracker lit on an empty street.

“Uh, yeah?” It comes out small and uncertain, and she shrinks behind the wall a bit more.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I can’t- Uh, I can’t sleep.”

He looks at her the same way Papa would whenever he caught her reading in the middle of the night under her covers, and she hangs her head a bit, feeling very much like a child. 

She hears him sigh, though, and looks up to see him looking at her expectantly, arms out as if telling her that she can join him on the couch. She feels something in her chest tighten as she shuffles across the carpet slowly, half-expecting him to turn her away.

Instead she’s met with him grabbing her once she’s within range, large hands circling her small wrists as he pulls her into him. She squeaks as she falls onto his lap, his arms circling her waist and pulling her closer.

Maka adjusts herself so her head rests on his chest, crossing her ankles as her feet rest on the arm of the couch.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“‘Dunno,” she says, shrugging a bit as she attempts to move in closer, “What are you watching?”

“The Facts of Life,” he deadpans, and Maka snorts.

“The one about the girls that live at that boarding school?”

“Mhm.”

She can hear his voice in his chest, hollow and warm and rumbling.

“Which episode?”

“I dunno. It just came on.”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asks, raising an eyebrow accusingly.

He shrugs, “I can’t sleep either. The only difference is that my shift isn’t until 1, and  _ yours _ is first thing in the morning. You’re gonna pass out right in the middle of work if you don’t go to sleep soon.”

Maka shrugs, “Coffee will be my best friend. The Starbucks baristas absolutely love me.”

Soul laughs, resting a hand on her knee, “Once they know you by name, you know you have a problem.”

Maka fights the goosebumps rising on her legs, silently yelling at the butterflies to get out of her stomach. 

She laughs with him instead, although a bit forced, “Either way, I’m not sleeping any time soon.”

She feels Soul’s hand graze her thigh, voice low as he says, “I can help with that, you know.”

Maka chokes, her heart leaping into her throat. She coughs, her question tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop it.

“Oh really?”

Soul hums, falling to the right as he lays out along the couch, pulling Maka with him. She slides into the cushions, fitting into Soul’s side perfectly. One of her legs drapes over the both of his, her head resting in between his shoulder and his side. He reaches across the coffee table, pulling up the remote and turning off the television.

The light from the screen flickers off, and Maka’s washed in darkness again.

She closes her eyes, sliding her arm over Soul’s chest and settling it against his ribs. He hums, resting his own hand on the small of her back. The couch is small, but Maka is comfortable enough not to care. Soul rubs her back, voice almost a whisper as he begins to speak.

“When I was little, I lived in Boston,” Soul’s voice reverberates through the darkness, “My whole family did. We had this really big house on this really big cul de sac, and my brother Wes and I went to this small private school downtown somewhere. I don’t remember too much -- it was a long time ago.”

“Wes, the same one-”

Soul laughs, breathy and sarcastic, “Yeah. The same one dating Liz.”

Maka hums, eyes growing heavy.

“We went to this school, and it was awful. They had this dumb uniform; it was real itchy and uncomfortable. And then after school we would be taken to our music lessons.”

“Don’t you play piano?” It comes out as more of a slur of words than a sentence, but Soul seems to understand her as she asks.

“I do, yeah. Mom plays cello, Wes violin. Dad plays the piano like me.” He sighs, adjusting his weight and running his fingers up and down Maka’s spine, “All of them went to Juilliard, naturally. Mom and Dad are huge in the classical music world. They play benefits and concerts and all of these big things - the Evans’ are  _ known _ for their music. So Wes and I were expected to be just as good.”

There’s a bitter edge to his voice that Maka doesn’t miss, so she pulls him closer to herself with heavy limbs.

“Every day it was the same thing - school, music, home, music, dinner, music. If we weren’t playing it, we were listening to it. If we weren’t listening, we were studying, or composing, or watching someone else play instead. I think I could probably play half of Beethoven and Mozart's pieces in my sleep. I had written my first composition when I was 8, and had performed in front of crowds of near thousands by the time I was 13. Wes was the same.

“We didn’t really have a choice, you know? I didn’t have much of a social life -- who would want to talk to the kid who only knows instruments? My entire life was music. So once Wes got into Juilliard, all eyes were on me to go next.”

“But you’idn’t wanto?”

Soul takes a deep breath, and Maka’s head rises with his chest, “No, I didn’t.”

“So you came here?”

“Mhm.”

Maka pats his chest, humming her approval. “Good fer you, then.”

Soul laughs, “I guess. Mom and Dad weren’t too happy, though. They cut me off from everything.”

“Thas’ n’good.”

He laughs again, moving his hand from her back to her head, pulling her closer and kissing her hair. “No, it’s not.”

“Are’you okay now?”

“I’m fine, yeah. I haven’t spoken to my parents in a few years, though. I haven’t really been close to Wes since I left, either. I think he might have followed me here after he graduated in order to make sure I had somewhere to go in case I screwed up, you know? Which I appreciate. He’s always looked out for me. I could never hate him.

“I just hated the idea of being this machine that my parents made. Like I wasn’t worth anything to them unless I played, and I played what they wanted. You should have seen them when I told them I wasn’t following their life plan. They went crazy, throwing things and yelling and calling me a mistake -- all because I didn’t want to play piano for the orchestra like they did. So I left; figured that if they didn’t want me, then I’d just go figure shit out for myself. And I did.”

“And you found me!” She says it in a half-asleep triumph, squeezing him with what little strength she has left. She can feel Soul smile, squeezing her back.

“And I found you.”

* * *

Maka wakes up to the sunlight from the windows, the rays slipping between the living room curtains and hitting her eyes. The couch she lays on is empty as she sits up, yawning and rubbing at her eyes.

There’s a cup of coffee on the table in front of her, and she smiles, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering with her heart.


	7. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For soma week day three - stuck in the rain

Soul has always hated the rain.

It always made it harder to ride his bike, and he hated taking the bus or taxis. Public transport was never really something he enjoyed.

And yet here he was, crammed onto a bus downtown, stuffed between a near hundred year old woman and her groceries and a father with his screaming child. He was wet, suffocating, and way too tired for his own good.

Soul really, really hates the rain.

Maka had messaged him while he was at work, asking if maybe he wanted to go out for dinner tonight. Naturally he had agreed, going through the rest of his shift at the shop more excited than he’d been that morning. It made it easier to deal with everyone, knowing that Maka was at home waiting for him.

No amount of Maka in the world could help him now, though.

He grits his teeth, cursing himself for not charging his now-dead phone while he was at work. He lets his head fall back onto the window behind him, wishing he could listen to his music instead of the screaming toddler next to him. He practically flies off of the bus the second it reaches his stop, tripping over his own feet halfway down the aisle. 

He’s out on the street before the doors can close, running his hands through his hair and pulling his hood up to protect himself from the rain. He pulls the strings on his hood a bit, sighing to himself as he makes it to the steps of his apartment building.

He’s busy thinking about places to take Maka out to dinner as he climbs the steps, digging through his pockets for his keys.

_ Maybe somewhere nice- or maybe we can just go somewhere casual. Is tonight significant? Am I forgetting an important date-? _

His train of thought grinds to a halt as he realizes he can’t find his keys.

He had grabbed them when he’d left this morning -- he’s sure of it. He retraces his steps, recalling his morning routine.

He had woken up, eaten breakfast, showered, gotten changed, grabbed his phone and a cup of coffee.... And left.

And left his keys on the counter.

He hadn’t even thought about it, too concerned with making sure he had enough money for bus fare. The keys to his bike were on the same ring as his house keys, and he hadn’t taken his bike-

He lets his forehead fall onto the door, cursing to himself.

He’s done it.

He’s really done it.

He’s achieved a new level of lame.

A part of him panics, thinking about Maka coming home, seeing him sitting on the steps of their apartments cold, wet and super un-cool. But a larger part of him just... doesn’t care. He isn’t surprised that this is the way things turned out, at the end of a day like today.

He takes a seat on the front steps, dropping his chin into his hand and watching people hurry past him on the street.

He really hates the rain.

* * *

He isn’t sure how long it’s been before Maka gets home, unable to tell the time since his phone is dead.

She finds him on the front steps, his hoodie soaking wet and his hair in his face, looking like he’d climbed out of a shower fully clothed.

“Makaaaaaa.”

She stares at him for almost thirty seconds, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Soul?”

He looks up at her through his bangs. “I forgot my keys.”

She’s silent for another minute, looking him up and down with a look of pity that makes him squirm.

And then she laughs.

It’s the most genuine thing Soul’s heard in ages, loud and breathy and beautiful. She attempts to cover her mouth with her hands, but ends up giving up and doubling over, clutching at her sides.

Soul pouts, and Maka finally lets her laughter die down, taking deep breaths through her giggles. She makes her way up the steps, digging out her own keys and patting Soul’s head.

“I’m sorry. You just look like a sad little puppy out here all alone. Let’s get you inside and into dry clothes.”

He nods, holding the back of her sweater as he follows her inside.

* * *

“The rain is stupid,” Soul calls out to her from his blanket-cocoon on the couch, bundled in his favorite sweats and two sweatshirts, hair still dripping from the leftover rainwater.

He hears Maka hum from next to the stove, and she appears in the living rooma moment later with two cups of tea.

“I love it, so I can’t say I agree.”

Soul makes a face, “Seriously?”

“Yeah! It’s my favorite type of weather.”

“ _ Why _ ?”

Maka shrugs, falling onto the couch beside him and passing him a mug. “I have good memories of the rain.”

Soul wraps half of his blanket around Maka, pulling her closer and smiling when she drapes her legs across his. “Like what?”

She rests her head on his shoulder, looking out the window to the right of them.

“When I was little, Mama used to say that the rain could wash away anything, even sadness. She used to wrap me up in a blanket just like this, and she’d carry me out onto the front porch to watch cars drive by. 

“We would sit like that for hours, just her and I, talking and singing and reading books. Sometimes we’d just sit there in silence together, and we’d watch the rain as it fell. It was always so pretty, and the sound would help me fall asleep.

“Sometimes I would ask Mama about her Sentence, or about Papa’s. I’d ask her how they met, if they were in love, if they were going to be together forever. She would always just go ‘mmm. Forever is a very long time.’ She would always smile and kiss my cheek, or change the subject completely. I think that should have probably been my first hint.”

Maka’s voice grows soft, and she shies into Soul’s side a bit more. He wraps her tighter in their cocoon.

“When I was 11, I found out that Papa had been cheating on Mama. She had known for a while, too, I guess. I had never really noticed how sad she always was until after I found out. And then it all started piecing together. How distant she’d become, how much weight she’d lost, how much she and Papa had been arguing...”

She becomes quiet, and Soul wonders if she’s finished before she starts speaking again.

“The only time Mama ever looked really happy was when we would watch the rain.”

She takes a sip of her tea, still staring out the window.

“She left before I was 12. I woke up to a note on my bedside table and Papa crying in the living room. I think she went to Washington, or Oregon, or somewhere close to that.

“I was mad for a long time. At Papa, at Mama... I didn’t speak to Papa for 3 and a half months. I didn’t tell him I loved him for a little over a year. I’m still trying to forgive him, you know? It’s hard. I’m still not fully there.

“I was mad at Mama, too, for leaving. And for not taking me with her. I’m still a bit upset, even now. She sends me postcards sometimes, if she goes somewhere new, or she’ll let me know when she moves, like when she went to New York, but I hardly ever hear from her. So my memories are all I really have left.

“That, and the rain.”

She finishes her story and sighs, turning back to face him. Tears sit along the rims of her eyes, and it takes everything Soul has not to kiss them away.

So he holds her instead, pulling her closer in their tiny cocoon of blankets, wishing more than anything to hide her away, protecting her from anything that may hurt her. He kisses the top of her head, and she smiles.

“I guess that’s why I’m so hesitant. Feeling like you’ve been abandoned isn’t exactly the best feeling.” She laughs, but Soul doesn’t. He looks at her, holding her face in his hands.

“I won’t ever leave you, Maka.”

Her smile becomes warm, soft, more genuine than it had been before, and she places her hands over Soul’s own.

“Thank you.”


End file.
